


One Short Step from Falling

by moriartys_web



Series: One Short Step from Falling [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt John Watson, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Reichenbach, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Reichenbach Feels, Romance, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriartys_web/pseuds/moriartys_web
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the Reichenbach Fall Sherlock discovers that John is getting married. He sets out to stop the wedding but later realizes that there is something much bigger he needs to prevent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was looking out the window of his flat when he heard the door creak open. He didn't have to look, he knew who it was. "Mycroft." Sherlock acknowledged.

"How have you been settling in Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock didn't reply, the small apartment was swallowed in silence except for the single note that Sherlock had just picked on his violin. "Sherlock I-"

"How is John?" Sherlock snapped, he waited expectantly but his brother did not answer. "You would not have come all the way out here just to have a talk. So do not make me ask you again. How. Is. John?"

"He is well." Mycroft said. Sherlock relaxed the moment Mycroft spoke those reassuring words. The guilt that had been weighing on Sherlock's  shoulders months since he last heard of John had lifted slightly. "He's actually the reason why I'm here." Mycroft paused and looked down at his hand resting on the handle of his umbrella as if he wasn't sure how to go on.

"In your own time." Sherlock said impatiently.

Mycroft sighed, "John's getting married." Sherlock's bow dipped causing a sour note on his violin and then the room fell into complete silence.

The second Sherlock heard those words his heart stopped. His mind which was normally a buzz of thousands of different things had slowed to only one thought. No, it wasn't true. It could not possibly be true. This was John, he never stayed in a relationship for that long, he never got serious. It had been 3 years, 3 long years, where every moment of Sherlock's mind was filled with guilt, that he left John, that John thinks he is dead. The last words Sherlock heard him say still echo in his mind " _I was so alone, and I owe you so much. Now please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Would you-just for me, just stop it. Stop this_. _"_ And he did, he wanted this to stop. Every morning Sherlock woke up and John was his first thought and every night his last. Not a single day had gone by where he didn't imagine going back to John, and telling him he was sorry, telling him he was-

"When? Where?" Sherlock insisted as he abandoned his violin and quickly went to put on his coat.

"Sherlock." Mycroft warned.

"Tell me!" yelled Sherlock and locked eyes with his brother. They paused for a moment, Sherlock's eyes pleading and full of desperation and Mycroft's face unreadable.

Mycroft sighed, "Today at a church, St. Martin's I believe." and Sherlock was out the door. "Sherlock! You can't-" Mycroft's voice trailed off, Sherlock was gone.

***

 "Could you go any faster?" Sherlock demanded to the cab driver his impatience seething.           

Sherlock was in the cab, his mind a jumble of thoughts, each one unclear, all leading to different feelings. He was worried, whether he would be able to make it in time or not, if he ran in and John didn't want him back, didn't feel the same way. He knew he could not live without John, the second he faked his death a part of Sherlock was gone. The other half of him was only a wisp of life that held onto to his lifeline for one reason, so he could hear of John. This was how Sherlock had lived for the past three years. He knew going back to John would put him in danger like before, where every single day was a battlefield, where John could get hurt or killed at any moment. His mind was coming up with hundreds of different scenarios for how this day could turn out and all the outcomes he could imagine. He had worked so hard to keep John away. This was John's chance of a normal life, his only chance of being happy, because being with Sherlock he would always be in danger and worried about his friend.           

_If I died for real next time would John be able to handle it? Just getting me back only to lose me again. Would he spend the rest of his life in grief, or worse, the constant hope that I would come back?_

Sherlock wanted John to be happy, he had wanted him to move on. But the second Sherlock realized this might be in effect he wished he could take John back, as well as everything he did to him.

_Would John be able to handle me, his friend that he thought was dead, bursting through the doors of his own wedding wanting him back? Possibly._ All that he knew was that he loved John and he needed him.

The church just came into view; it looked the same as it had when he first worked a case there, long before he met John. The parking lot was full, the wedding was still in progress. Before the cab even came to a complete stop Sherlock was out of the vehicle and running to the large wooden doors of the church, his coat tail trailing behind him. He threw the doors open and quickly followed new scuffmarks and shoeprints left in the corridor to a pair of doors and ran in without a moment’s hesitation.

"Stop! Stop!" Sherlock yelled, "I object!” The priest cut off in mid sentence and a ripple of whispers ran through the crowd, heads turned. _Please want me back._ He continued walking down the aisle but began to slow, it wasn't John. He knew even before the groom turned to see who interrupted the wedding. He was only just too tall to be John, his posture was wrong, _everything_ was wrong, right down to the sole of his shoe. "John... John Watson- he was here!" Sherlock said in bewilderment.

"Their wedding ended, about 3 hours ago." The old voice of the priest replied. For a moment Sherlock felt nothing, like a switch that had just flicked off. His mind for the first time ever in his life didn't process the words quick enough. But then in a flash his heart broke all over again, it was like the fall. Except this time Sherlock was playing John's role of watching his friend go and believing he will never come back. Every hope he gained in the cab turned on him like dull knives to the heart. But the worst part was that he wanted those few moments of not feeling anything back, because nothing was worse than the pain of knowing he was too late. It's too late for him to go back to John now. It is John's turn to be happy. Sherlock turned on his heel and slowly left the room, his face an emotionless mask covering the storm of grief inside him. It was time to go back to his flat- not his home. His home would always be at 221B with John.


	2. Chapter 2

John eyed himself in the mirror. _This is it._ He thought, and for a moment a smile flickered across his face as he imagined that he would meet Sherlock at the altar. He knew it wasn't true, Sherlock was dead. But he let himself imagine it, Sherlock waiting for him in a classic black suit with his hands clasped behind his back smiling at him. Because Sherlock knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life with John. Every morning they would wake up beside each other, in 221B with John nuzzling into Sherlock's neck and his husband brushing a soft kiss into his hair. He would make tea for Sherlock and care for him when he got ruffed up, and in return Sherlock would play his violin for him. Most days they would be out together, at crime scenes or chasing cabs and catching criminals. But in between cases John would sit and read the newspaper with Sherlock hovering around him completely bored, until John invites him over and Sherlock responds by laying his head on John's lap, eyes closed as John absentmindedly stroked his hair. They would be happy together, and maybe one day lying next to each other in rumpled blankets Sherlock would smile at John and say in the most straightforward way _"Why don't we have any children? I think I like the name Hamish.”_ And John would have his Sherlock and nothing would be more perfect. Nothing.

"John?" someone called from the door.                                        

"Right. Right" John said bringing himself back to reality, "Just a minute." he patted down his tie and sighed looking at himself in the mirror one more time. Then before he left he whispered to a ghost "Just one more miracle Sherlock, for me."

***

John stood at the altar across from Mary who looked stunning in her white dress. The priest was speaking and Mary's smile was beautiful, it was one of the few things that could make John happy. He still remembers when they first met he was so alone, depressed and he could not imagine being happy again, and she was the first to make him laugh in a long time. John loved her and she made him the happiest he could be without Sherlock. 


	3. Chapter 3

The instant Sherlock stepped out of the church he already knew what he was going to do. He planned to go back to his dull apartment by himself and have a smoke, or many. He was about to turn his collar up as he started walking towards the street but he stopped himself, it was silly but he didn't. He was attempting hail a cab when a familiar voice called his name from behind.

"Sherlock?! Sherlock is that you?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he slowly turned around, "Molly." There was a pause of silence between them and Sherlock found himself in the unfamiliar situation of being unsure of what to say. The last time he saw her was at St. Bart's when he asked her for help with his plan.

Molly broke the silence, "What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be- not here."

"Yes well, it doesn't concern you now does it." Sherlock replied scanning the street for a cab to hail, but then paused at a thought "Wait, what are you doing here?" he continued his tone suddenly changing from a curt brush off to sudden interest.

"I am-"

"Wait, no, let me re-word that. Why are you not at the reception?" he interrupted wanting to quickly get a precise answer.

Confusion clouded her face," The reception?”

"Yes," he snapped, "Where they dance, and have cake and make toasts." he listed impatiently.

"Sherlock- I thought you would have known. John didn't say his vows, he called off the wedding."   _He stopped the_ _wedding_. _Brilliant! Suitable reaction? Probably not-_ Sherlock stopped in mid thought as something nagged in his mind.

He grabbed Molly's shoulders, "What did he say when he left-did he say anything to anyone?" he asked urgently.

"He- he apologised, to Mary, then he just ran out." she answered quickly.

"Can you remember the _exact_ words he said to her?" he demanded.

"I thin-" She started.

"Say them to me right now, exactly as he said them."

"He said," Molly paused for a moment, "'I was so alone and I owe you so much.'" Sherlock stepped back as his mouth formed a silent 'oh'; his eyes his eyes darting back and forth in thought.

The words, so familiar that Sherlock could have mumbled them in his sleep. The string of 10 simple words that had been resonant in his mind since he had first heard them spoken.

_Why? Why would he use those words now? Why say them now? 3 years ago he said those same words to a grave with my name on it. He should have long forgotten them. His mind, so simple, full of sentiment. Sentiment- John was so sentimental. He forgot the words long ago- 'I was so alone, and I owe you so much.’ but his mind did not- those exact words placed in his head, far from conscious reach. But something made him say it, this was more than just the brain's love for repetition- this was John, so it was sentiment_ \- feelings- nostalgia _. Yes, yes that was it. He was thinking of me- not positive thoughts though, hence the words he chose- the exact wording he used after my funeral. Familiar thoughts and feelings eliciting a relevant phrase from when he first had those same thoughts and feelings. That was not it though- John, just ended his wedding- clearly he liked the woman in the first place so he would probably be experiencing guilt, loss on top of already present emotions accompanied with thoughts of my death- Sentiment. Guilt. Loss. Death. John._

_Not good._

Sherlock turned away from Molly running his hands through his hair in a panic as he stepped onto the road. "What is it?" she asked anxiously. But her question drowned out by the horn of a cab as Sherlock blocked it from driving past him and screeched to a halt.

"Saint Bart's!" he called as he got into the cab, "I'll pay you triple if you get me there immediately." and Sherlock for the first time in his life hoped that what he had just deduced was wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

When the wedding procession had begun John was instantly reminded of Sherlock. The hum of the first note was recognized at once as the sound of a violin, even though it had been years since he last heard one played.  The sound of the notes were memorable, even though his flatmate had never played the mantra.  Once the violinist completed his last note the melody faintly continued to echo in John's mind. The smell from Mary's bouquet was almost overwhelming. It caused a rush of nostalgia to run through him, the scent devastatingly familiar. _Lavender_ , he recalled for a moment, that's what had Mary said the flowers were. And then he and Sherlock were suddenly in the flat.

_"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed.” It smells like flowers, but nothing I won't be able to get used to, "Yes. Yes I think so. My thoughts precisely." So I went straight ahead and moved in." "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out." "Oh."_         

The violin's steady pace was starting to shift, every few moments a note was off as it began to slow. He noticed Mary smiling at him but her eyes were full of concern. She briefly put a comforting hand on his arm and he threw her a convincing smile so he wouldn't worry her. The priest stepped closer to them and had started to speak but the words were drowned out by the violin getting louder and increasingly difficult to ignore. He smelled like cigarettes,

_"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time." Sherlock said as he left the room, John catching the faint smell of cigarettes._

'No, stop it. Stop this now. John pay attention.' he thought to himself.

The violin now almost deafening, playing a slow, sad melody that sounded so recognizable to John that he was convinced Sherlock played it before. _'Stop!'_ John had pleaded in his mind, it was too loud, so lonely and that it reminded him of Sherlock. _'Please stop.'_   And suddenly the violin stopped. John was alone at 221B, the sound of the rain hitting the windows outside. It was the day of the funeral; this was the last time John was at the flat. The same sinking feeling in his gut he had then returned to him now and he slowly walked over to the desk scattered with Sherlock's things, intelligible notes from cases, a cold untouched cup of tea, books flipped open to seemingly pointless pages with ridiculous words like "equanimity" and "portmanteau" scattered across the pages and a sheet of music with writing scribbled in the margins and messy notes scribbled across the page, Sherlock's last composition that would never be finished.

Those moments standing at the altar were too much for John, he couldn't take it. All at once everything had been too much. A dull feeling had crept into his stomach, it felt like a weight had been put on his shoulders and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. Everything washed over him all at once, the sadness, guilt, anger, and loneliness making his heartache.

Now John stood four stories up looking at the street below **.** Each memory of Sherlock was a painful reminder, a reminder of what he had lost and will never get back.To John the pain was always there, it never left and it never faded. He wanted it to end so desperately that he was willing to do it himself, to jump. It seemed so easy now, just one step and he could be with Sherlock. His thoughts were a curse, a never-ending downpour he wanted to end. He knew his heart was torn and scattered and there was no point in trying to mend it. Mary had tried, she was the closest thing he had to a needle and thread, but no matter how hard she worked to get all the pieces and stitch them together, there were still missing parts, his heart was still broken and far beyond repair. John knew that. He knew that if he stayed with Mary it wouldn't be fair to her, he could never love her the way he loved Sherlock, and John believed that she could never really be happy, could never get that person she deserved to have, if she spent the rest of her life with a man who will always be just one short step from falling.

"I'm so sorry Mary. Sherlock- I never stopped believing in you." he whispered and he closed his eyes lifting his foot ready to take a step forward, to end it all, the pain, every moment of sadness, every moment of hope, and the bad memories-

"John!" the affect of the voice instantaneous. _No, it couldn't be..._ he turned his head and his eyes met Sherlock's. " _Sherlock."_ John mouthed. He slowly turned in disbelief to face his old friend. Leaning back on the heel of his foot which didn't meet the ground, his foot slipped off the ledge and suddenly John was falling. His last act to save himself was reaching his hand out to Sherlock as he fell.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock ran up the stairs of the hospital with adrenaline pumping through his veins. His every thought was on John. He reached the top floor, the door leading to the roof was ajar. Sherlock shoved past it and his eyes fixed immediately on John, standing on the ledge with his arms out ready to jump.

"John!" He yelled coming to a stop, afraid to take a step closer. John's head turned and his eyes widened as his gaze met Sherlock's. His mouth formed Sherlock's name but only a shaky breath escaped his lips. Sherlock's mouth twitched at the corner, the beginning of a smile that was interrupted as John lost his balance. Within a moment every ounce of Sherlock's relief had disintegrated and he ran for the ledge.

Everything to John was incredibly slow, except for his thoughts. _Sherlock-he's alive. No, not like this. I can't leave here like this. I can't leave him like this._ John felt a sudden jolt of pain run through his arm and he hit the side of the building.  He looked down suspended in the air and then lifted his gaze to Sherlock’s. Sherlock had grabbed his wrist. "John, don't let go." He said desperately and John gripped his wrist in reply. With a heave Sherlock dragged John back onto the ledge and John used his free hand to help pull himself up. Sherlock helped him off the ledge and was about step back, to give him some space, a moment to think, but John's legs couldn't hold his weight as he planted his feet on the ground and he fell against Sherlock. He was barely able to hold John up, overwhelmed with relief that John was safe and in his arms. John took a deep breath, his face buried in Sherlock's shoulder as he took in the familiar scent that was long gone from his clothes in 221B. His hands were clutching Sherlock's jacket, pulling him closer, making sure that Sherlock would never leave him again. Sherlock heard John whisper his name over and over, as if he couldn't say it enough. Sherlock tried to pull away, only a bit, so he could make sure John was okay.

"No- don't!" John begged, his voice cracked. He took a breath to steady himself, "Don't leave me again."

"John look at me." There was a pause as John looked up at him, "I will never leave you again." Sherlock promised. After a second John's grip on Sherlock loosened slightly and he took a small step back. Sherlock looked John up and down making sure he was okay, taking in every detail aware that John's eyes stayed on his face.

"I never did let go." John said breaking the silence and causing Sherlock's eyes to meet his.

"Let go of what?" Sherlock asked, searching John's eyes.

"You." John breathed and saw a trace of regret flicker across Sherlock's eyes as he glanced away.

"John, I only ever wanted to protect you." he admitted trying to ignore the pain that John's answer had just caused him.

John laughed humorlessly in reply, "Look where we are Sherlock, I don't think it worked."

"I hoped you would move on." he said intensely.

"Right, of course." John snapped and he roughly let go of Sherlock's coat, turning away from him. He couldn't believe that Sherlock was so ignorant. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "How was I supposed to move on Sherlock? How was I supposed to live without you? My best friend was dead, he was called a fraud. Do you know how hard it was hearing what people said about you every single say? You told me what they said about you was true, but I never believed it, not for a second." he paused and turned back to face Sherlock, "You gave me everything worth living for and then you left me, letting me think for this entire time you were dead."

Each word to Sherlock brought more pain than the last, and he knew he deserved it, every word. "It was hard for me too John-"

"Yes, but you didn't-" John stopped himself and bit his lip and looked away.

"I didn't what?" Sherlock asked desperately.

John looked back at Sherlock studying his face, weighing whether he should answer, then his eyes met Sherlock's and he did. "You didn't love me."

Sherlock's face was expressionless, unreadable. The only thing he did was break eye contact with John momentarily, but that was enough, he already knew. John laughed again humorlessly stuffing his hands in his pockets and shaking his head while he took a few steps away from Sherlock. "That's what I thought." John breathed, and then he turned away from Sherlock, "Just forget I said anything."

Sherlock didn't know how to react when John answered his question, it seemed to good to be true, and then in a flash it was too late and John had already turned away. Suddenly Sherlock's hand was on John's arm and he gently turned John to face him. Their eyes met, their faces inches apart, and they stood there, looking into each other's eyes. Sherlock forgot what he was going to say and John's breath caught, as they both were mesmerised by the other. John wasn't sure how long they stood like that- for minutes or hours, until his gaze dropped to Sherlock's lips. John let himself imagine the feeling of Sherlock's lips against his, how they would taste- but all to soon John was pulled back to reality, he averted his eyes back to Sherlock's, afraid he noticed.

Sherlock saw John's gaze flicker to his mouth and he suddenly realized how desperate he was for a kiss, for all those times John looked at him and Sherlock imagined kissing John but was too afraid, because he never thought that John loved him back. Sherlock leaned in and slowly pressed his lips against John's, as he breathed out John inhaled sharply, his body tensing against Sherlock's in surprise. Sherlock paused a moment, his heart hammering against his chest, as he pulled back a fraction leaving his lips grazing John's, he slid his hands down John's arms, letting his eyes fall closed. He felt John's muscles relax against his own as John's warm breath of relief escaped his lips and he leaned further into Sherlock, his bottom lip sliding in between Sherlock's smooth, warm lips. A sigh of pleasure escaped Sherlock's mouth and he felt John's lip curve into a satisfied smile. Sherlock nudged his nose against John's, their lips catching as he ran his thumb over John's palm, moving his hands towards his wrist and up John's arms, making John exhale shakily. Sherlock breathed in John's familar scent causing a craving that was more addictive than any cigarette. All he wanted was more, more of John, to be closer to him, but he ignored his desire, even with the temptation of John's warm body against his, his heart fluttering against Sherlock's chest. He pulled away, tilting his head so that their lips separated but their foreheads touched. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment to help steady his breathing and then he whispered, "I loved you John. I still do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi reader, hopefully you enjoyed this work. This is the first Johnlock fic I have written so let me know if you would like more! I would like to thank my close friend Angela for her huge help editing as well as always being there for bouncing around ideas, I don't think this work would be finished without her. Lastly thanks to you for reading.


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